


apostasy

by lavenderseaslug



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, spoilers for part two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-05 23:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderseaslug/pseuds/lavenderseaslug
Summary: Power fairly hums between them, an enchantment Zelda’s never known, a spell she’s never cast, but the world seems to kaleidoscope, colors all around, ever-changing, before telescoping to the two of them, to this moment, to the feeling of their bodies together.- - -Spoilers for Part Two (in its entirety)





	apostasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leatherpumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leatherpumpkin/gifts).



Pain. Destruction. Loss. Zelda looks around her, sees wide and wary eyes, the huddled figures of her coven, so much smaller now, so scared. When she closes her own eyes, she sees Lilith, strong and proud, the crown on her head, the Queen of Hell, disappearing into the brimstone and flames, every inch an empress, every inch a ruler. 

Zelda can feel Hilda watching her, a tentativeness about her, waiting to see what will happen next. They’ve been through so much, the two of them, and Hilda has stayed by her side, saved her, protected her. She has to be the savior now, the protector. She is the High Priestess, she cannot show weakness. 

“Let’s get cleaned up,” she says, her voice raspier than she would like, but it doesn’t quiver, doesn’t waver, and slowly, the witches stand, brushing the dust from their clothes. Zelda feels the magic scorch through the air, whistling around her, and then she raises her hands to join them in the work. A different sort of leader for the coven. 

When she sleeps at night, the sleep of the worthy and the weary, she dreams of Lilith, of that wild hair, the flashing eyes. She sees the sadness, too, even at her apotheosis, at the loss of her world, the loss of the man she loved, the loss of her life’s meaning, crumbling around her, a second fall, but this time with the throne of Hell to catch her. 

Zelda met Lilith before, when she was Sabrina’s teacher, and she remembers the thrill that went through her as they shook hands, as they sat next to each other on the divan, as their thighs touched. Something about Mary Wardwell drew her in, a sense of something from long ago, a nostalgia, a memory she couldn’t quite place. Zelda understands now. 

Her dreams turn to nightmares, trapped in a music box, an ever-turning doll, a mindless figure brushed aside, kept only to do chores, to look the part. Her unheard screams, battling against a prison made from her own mind. Hilda’s warmth is there, Sabrina’s chutzpah, needling at her, breaking her free, saving her. 

She wonders how she could ever be subservient to a person who caged her, who trapped her so thoughtlessly, who used her powers, her intelligence, her desire, all to keep her confined, unable to use any of them. Her hands are bruised from pummeling invisible walls, her voice hoarse from yelling voiceless words, and she feels the void, the emptiness, the fear that she’ll never be free, and it consumes her.

When she wakes, it’s to a gentle hand on her cheek and she turns into it, the soft palm, and imagines it’s Hilda, perhaps with a hot cup of tea. 

But when she opens her eyes, it’s Lilith who is there, a gentle look on her hard face. “My high priestess,” she says, her voice practically a purr, and Zelda feels a shudder up her spine, feels the words curl around her, wrap her up. She feels, perhaps for the first time, that this is what’s been meant for her, that this is who should hold the power, that this is who she should serve.

“Your unholiness,” she breathes, her eyelashes brushing against Lilith’s fingers as she blinks, unable to stare into those eyes, feeling not quite worthy of it all. “How may I serve you?” She finds within herself a keening desire to cleave to this woman, the arcing of her spirit to obey any orders she might give. There’s a trust, a desire to believe that this woman will not forsake her, will not abuse the privilege of Zelda Spellman’s loyalty. 

“Perhaps, this once, we might serve each other,” Lilith says, little more than a whisper as she bends down, places her lips to Zelda’s cheek. The feel of it is breathtaking, lovely, something Zelda’s never felt. A lightness instead of a burden, the beating of her heart like the gentle fall of rain instead of a warning thrum. 

“As you wish,” she murmurs, and turns her face so their lips meet. Her hands weave into Lilith’s hair, like darkened gossamer, and she feels time stop, feels it freeze as tongues touch, as teeth meet. Zelda feels her body yield to Lilith’s hands, skimming down her sides, her whole being crying out to be taken, to be used, to be useful. It’s something she’s never felt, not with Faustus, not with anyone. 

The power emanating from Lilith is overwhelming, breathtaking, demonic, and it’s all Zelda’s ever wanted. 

She kisses Lilith again, feels Lilith push against her, rougher this time, biting at Zelda’s lower lip, and the pain washes through her, better than any simple pleasure. She pulls Lilith down to the bed, rolls atop her, golden hair a curtain around their faces. “I would kiss your robes,” she says, her voice wry, a smile playing around her mouth, “but there are things you might like far better.” 

Lilith laughs, head tilted back, the sound like the tinkling of an impish choir, and it brings Zelda no uncertain joy. 

She is soft where Faustus was hard. She is almost delicate, except for the steel that runs through her, the dragonfire in her blood. Zelda noses against the tendons of her neck, runs her tongue against the veins, in fearful awe that this should be the woman who holds the power, the woman who rules all. 

In a blink, there’s nothing between them, no clothes, the bedsheets witched away too, just their bodies, their naked flesh, sinful and beautiful, and oh-so-hellish. Lilith’s breasts fit into Zelda’s hands, her nipple, peaked and pert, between her lips. As Zelda moves down Lilith’s body, she marvels at the smoothness of her skin, at its beauty. Otherwordly. Though it’s always been that way, even before she commanded all the powers of Hell. 

“Hail Satan,” she whispers before pressing her lips to Lilith’s core, suckling there for a moment, feeling Lilith’s body writhe beneath her fingers, all because of her, all due to her dutiful ministrations. She licks into Lilith, the taste of her unimaginable, smoke and fire and lusciousness and nothing like she’s ever had. 

Lilith is made up of all of Zelda’s dreams, all of her nightmares. Her desires and her fears, all coalesced into this one being, this woman who has lived so many lives, this woman who conquered the world. It is frightening, it is exhilarating, and all Zelda can do is keep going. 

She circles Lilith’s clit with her tongue, one hand bracing between her thighs, the other joining her mouth, her fingers dipping into the sacred flesh of the woman above her and she takes it as a blessing, a sacrament of unholiness, a declaration of sin. She hears Lilith’s moan, a sound of pleasure that fills her up, makes her feel whole again, regain some of what Faustus made her lose. 

Lilith’s hands, once more in her hair, compel her to continue, and Zelda has no inducement otherwise. Her fingers press against Zelda’s scalp, hot and strong, firm, her nails scraping the hair away, prodding her forward, keeping her close. 

“Yes,” she hisses, a viper wrapped around Zelda’s consciousness. “Yes,” she moans, a wanton woman in the throes of lust. “Yes,” she whispers as she comes, lava spilling out of a volcano. 

Zelda arches her back, rolls herself up to a seat, back on her heels, palms on her thighs. She licks her lips, chasing the flavor with her tongue, trying to memorize the taste, lest this is her only chance. “Anything else you require?” she asks, with more bravery than she feels, bare and supplicant before Lilith. 

“Pleasure yourself, priestess,” Lilith says, a glint in her eye, her body long and lean, panther-like, a predator in a silky form, an iron fist in a velvet glove. 

Zelda closes her eyes, but sees nothing different than she saw when they were open. Lilith is there, at every corner of her brain, at the edge of all of her senses. She only had sight and sound before, but now she has touch and taste and smell, her vision of Lilith complete, etched into her mind. 

She feels the thrum of lust ebb and flood, moving through her like a wave, and her fingers make a slow journey along her body, circling her breasts, first one, then the other, her nails scraping at her own soft flesh, a devil’s mark made by her own hand. She bites her lip, imagines it’s Lilith’s mouth on hers, Lilith’s hands. 

Her hips thrust forward without thought, her thighs sliding against Lilith’s legs, the woman beneath her unmoving, a quiet, lustful watcher. She’s wet, so wet, so willing, so ready, and her fingers slide in easily, one, then another, then a third and she shifts, stretching to accommodate, and then she feels Lilith’s hand on her knee, those nails pressing into her skin. 

One squeeze of her hand, and Zelda feels the passion let loose within her and she drops forward, one hand bracing her above Lilith, the other still ensconced between her thighs, the movement driving her fingers in further. Zelda opens her eyes, stares down into Lilith’s face, the long nose, the sharp chin. She stares as she works her hand into a rhythm, fast and hard, stares into the beautiful eyes that are looking up into her own. 

Power fairly hums between them, an enchantment Zelda’s never known, a spell she’s never cast, but the world seems to kaleidoscope, colors all around, ever-changing, before telescoping to the two of them, to this moment, to the feeling of their bodies together, and Zelda thinks she would spend her life on her knees if it meant pleasing this woman. 

Lilith arcs up to kiss her, almost tenderly, an unholy anointing. It’s the tenderness, beneath everything else, that sends Zelda into the depths, the tenderness she’s so rarely felt. The tenderness that saves her every time. 

“Very good,” Lilith says, a hand cupping Zelda’s cheek. “You are worthy, dear one.” 

This is deeper than anything she’s ever felt, the words causing pleasure in her more spiritual than any rite performed in the church of Satan. She feels the matriarchy reborn in her soul, a phoenix emerging from the ashes left by the men who would destroy it with their own hubris.

In the blink of an eye, they are clothed once more, sitting side by side, and Zelda wonders for a moment if she’s still dreaming, if this might be a vision, if any of this is real. But Lilith is there, regal and queenly, her hand reaching out for Zelda’s. 

“You will rebuild my church,” she says, her voice coming as if from far away, choirs of demons echoing in Zelda’s ears. “Together, we will do as the Dark Lord intended, all those years ago. Together, we will destroy the False God. Together, we can rebuild an Eden for the ages, where no one is cast out.” 

Her words are magic, spinning a web full of a hope she’s never felt before, a thrill of joy as Zelda knows she’s found her place in all of this. “My coven is your coven, Queen,” she says, bowing her head. 

Lilith’s hand is under her chin after a moment, tilting her face upwards, their eyes meeting once more. She places a kiss on Zelda’s lips, soft and sweet as the breeze in the first trees rustling in the first garden, eons ago. “I will appear when you call me.” 

There’s a twist to her lips, a smirk that Zelda recognizes from before everything happened. She thinks of a late night, her hands working between her legs, and the name Lilith spilling from her lips. She wonders if the other woman would appear then too. 

“ _Whenever_ you call,” Lilith says, as if she’s heard Zelda’s thoughts. 

And then she’s gone, only the trace of brimstone and the ache of Zelda’s thighs to show she was ever there at all. 


End file.
